


I'm Not Sorry

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester / Female Reader - Freeform, Drinking, F/M, Hurt, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4994278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine Dean gets a boner while you’re straddling him and cleaning up his wounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Sorry

Sighing for the hundredth time since you set about sewing the gash closed on Dean’s shoulder, you stood abruptly, jostling the injured hunter. “This isn’t working.”

“It’s just a few stitches, Y/N. Nothing you haven’t done before.” Dean seized the opportunity to take another pull from the half empty bottle of whiskey.

“No, it’s not that. I just… I can’t get the angle I need to do it right.” And that’s when you figured it out.

Watching you walk around him, Dean shifted uneasily in the chair. “What?”

You stopped in front of him, jean clad knees brushing against his. “Move your legs.” 

“Why?”

“Because,” you stressed the fact that you hated repeating yourself by pinching the bridge of your nose, “I can’t get the angle I need. Move your legs.” You pointed at his thick thighs, showing him how he needed to spread them in order to support you.

“I don’t see why you can’t just –“ his protests stopped when you sat down, straddling him, shifting until he moved his legs the way you originally indicated.

“Shut up, Winchester.”

While you tended to the wide gash, you struggled to ignore the fact that despite the fact he was covered in blood and had fired the shotgun a handful of times, you could still smell his Old Spice body wash. Or the fact that your hands seemed to suddenly burn with the intense need to feel every scar and bruise that decorated his body. Or the fact that he kept shifting his hips and biting his bottom lip, stealing glances at you from the corner of his emerald and whiskey colored eyes.

“Are you done yet?” His voice seemed more strained, agitated.

You absentmindedly shifted in his lap, bouncing one leg in slight irritation. “What’s your hurry, Dean? Got a big date or something?” You and Dean never dated, never slept together, never… anything. Well, not nothing. You flirted all day, every day, but that was **Dean**. If you were of the female persuasion, Dean would flirt with you until his brother smacked him in the shoulder, and even that wouldn’t stop him. But that didn’t mean you didn’t want to do more _with_ him, _to_ him.

Turning to look at you, he clenched and unclenched his fists. “Yeah… something.”

It was then you felt something that wasn’t there a moment ago and you realized why he seemed so uncomfortable. You tied off the suture quickly, forcing yourself not to move from the waist down even though the outline of Dean’s erection felt incredible between your legs. The weight of his gaze made your hands shake, making the task of taping gauze over the stitches damn near impossible. “Almost done, then I’ll get out of your way.”

The pressure of his hands on your hips and the way his fingers spread out over your ass let you know exactly how big his hands were. “You’re not in my way.”

“Dean –“ your breath caught in your throat when you met his gaze, lust blown pupils had left a strip of emerald.

He licked his lips, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Say it again.”

You gasped in surprise as he rocked you against him, dropping your hands to his shoulders, still very aware of the fresh injury. You obeyed his request, saying his name in a breathy whisper, “what are you doing?”

“Something I’ve wanted to do for a long… _long_ time.” He sucked in a sharp breath before kissing you, pulling your bottom lip between his, and nipping at the plump flesh. With a tip of his head, his tongue was in your mouth, tasting like whiskey and cinnamon.

You grabbed at the back of his neck and shoulders, driving your fingers through his hair, moaning obscenely as your hips jerked in tandem with his. You whimpered into his mouth, the coil in your belly tightening until you felt like you were going to snap in half and just when you thought you might come, the all too familiar roar of the Impala made you jump; Sam was back with dinner and more medical supplies.

“Damn it.” His breath blew hot against your kiss swollen lips.

Even though your legs felt like jelly, you stood. Just in time, too, because the motel door was thrown open just as Dean’s hand fell from your ass. “Jesus! You wouldn’t believe the line at the pharmacy. Sorry it took so long!”

Dean smirked, shifting in the chair so his little brother wouldn’t notice the raging hard on. Only you heard him speak. His words holding the promise of much _much_ more to come. “I’m not.”


End file.
